


All my demons greeting me as a friend

by SiwgrGalon



Series: Light a match, ignite a bomb-verse [2]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Supportive Relationship, chosen family, mcpriceley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the past weeks, Connor may or may not have refused to acknowledge that his depression seems to be manifesting again. But there's no way around accepting the truth anymore - not now, as he's sat in ER because suddenly, coping seemed impossible.</p><p>With Kevin out of state for the moment, Poptarts proves once more why he's Connor's best friend – but in the end, the only way to fight your demons is to come at them head first. Only that's sometimes easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 - just a word of warning, this does start out in a fairly dark place. 
> 
> CN/TW for suicidal ideation/thoughts, actual self-harming and mental health problems. You can skip the first chapter - I'll put a short summary at the end, so you know what happened - but the warnings stay in place, although it's only 'mentions of' in the following chaps.
> 
> (Also, this is un-beta-d, mainly because I kinda needed to get it out before my computer is off to repair...)

Connor doesn’t know how long it’s been - the past two days have been a blur. He’s weirdly empty, like he turned from a human to a black hole overnight. For the past days, the redhead didn’t even have it in him to miss Kevin, at times.

That should’ve been the first alarm bell, really. 

But he also feels anxiety thrumming through his body, like an electric current keeping him on edge. It’s more foreboding than anticipation, more warning of danger than harking of good times. 

He’d nearly cut himself, earlier. Not just cut, but seriously, intentionally hurt himself. The intention, probably, being to not see the morning. He’s not quite sure – his body had been on something akin to autopilot.

But suddenly, he’d found focus again. Like in a film, it had all zoomed in on his arm, the ripe, red tomatoes still resting on the counter, as the shock of his own actions knocked Connor square in the chest. 

He’d heard the knife clatter to the floor, without ever realising he’d let go of it. He’d gone to pick… no, wait, he never picked it up. He’d stood there, frozen, just looking, staring, at the small bead of blood, and the next one, and the next one, welling up from the cut like a necklace or red pearls. It’s more like a scratch, really, thin and shallow except… the last inch or two or three looked a lot more intentional. 

Also, there was no pain, and that was weird. Surely, there should at least be a burn to it, like from a paper cut. 

That was when Connor had known something was seriously wrong. That he couldn’t stay in the flat, not on his own. 

This was bad. Bad, bad, bad.

So he’d called Kevin, away on family business in Utah, but received no answer. He’d tried again, and a third time, but then given up. Maybe he couldn’t talk. Maybe he didn’t want to talk, but was enjoying his time without someone as out of his league as Connor. 

And yes, he knew it was the depression speaking, but for a second, the thought hurt. Badly. Then he’d gone back through their texts, and Kevin’s little voice message he sent last night, after Connor had fallen asleep on the phone, and it had helped with that particular doubt. At least for the time being. 

The other option had been Poptarts. They were still the closest of friends, but Connor had felt bad about calling nonetheless. 

‘Hi, Connor, how you doin’?’ Picking up on the seventh ring, his former companion was chipper and cheerful as ever. Connor felt a lump forming in his throat. 

‘Chris, I nearly did something stupid.’ He’d barely gotten the sentence out when he felt the tell-tale tightening in his chest. 

Oh please, not panic, too. This was the worst time, really. 

In an instant, the atmosphere shifted. Connor could hear a faint click in the background, as if a door closed. Going by the time, Poptarts was probably just home from work, ready to settle down and relax in his room. 

‘What kind of stupid are we talking about?’ 

Connor couldn’t bring himself to say it, focusing instead on his breathing. 

‘Connor?’ 

In. Out. Slow and measured. 

‘Con, what happened? Are you still there?’ 

‘I cut myself.’ There, he said it. 

‘I cut myself, and it was not an accident.’

He has to swallow, but the lump remains firmly in place. 

‘And part of me didn’t want to stop. Not until, you know, it _would end_.’

A sharp intake of breath.

‘Are you telling me you thought about… taking your own life?’ 

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ It wasn’t a lie. Even if, Poptarts would’ve seen straight through it. 

’To be honest, I didn’t really think at all…’

‘Okay, where are you?’ 

‘I’m at home.’

‘Do you think you’re okay on your own?’ 

‘No. And I tried ringing Kevin, but he’s in Utah and his flight out isn’t until tomorrow night, and he’s not answering his phone,’

As swiftly as it came, his rising anxiety metered out now, an attack seemingly deflected. Instead, Connor felt himself overcome by calm. Why was he calm? He shouldn’t be, should he? 

‘So he’s probably somewhere with his family or is just too bothered by me not being able to be on my own for a week.’ 

‘Stop right there, Con. Here’s what you’ll do. Ready?’ 

All he could muster was a non-committal hum, but that seemed to be enough for Chris. 

‘Get your keys and your wallet, and then go to hospital. Or a crisis center. I don’t care which one you choose, but you can absolutely not stay on your own, okay?’ 

‘I can’t go out like this.’ 

‘Why?’

‘I’m wearing sweatpants and that shirt you got me after our mission. They’ll think I’m after drugs.’ 

‘Well, then, change. Come on, I’ll stay on the phone.’ 

Mechanically, Connor had followed Poptarts’ order, changing into a pair of jeans and a bordeaux tee. As a shiver ran down his spine, he grabbed the gray zip hoodie on the bed, whether for comfort or warmth he didn’t know. It was Kevin’s, so a bit too big on Connor’s frame, but it was also soft and warm and smelled like the other man. 

‘Okay.’

Connor heard the wobble in his voice, felt his throat closing, as everything caught up with him. He couldn’t help the sniffle, and the tears didn’t come as much of a surprise either. 

‘I’m scared.’

‘Hey, hey, don’t cry. I’m not there to give you a hug, Con, but I can tell you it’ll all work out okay, yeah?’ 

‘I don’t think I can do it, Poptarts. I’m so tired. I just… I don’t want it to end, but I do, if that makes sense. I don’t know what to feel. I don’t feel anything, right now, not really. I don’t even know why I’m crying.’

‘Shhh, Con. Deep breath.’

Hearing his former companion speak like that, as if he took Connor’s worries seriously, helped the redhead compose himself. 

‘Alright. I’m really worried now, okay? I know I probably shouldn’t say this, but you’re my best friend, and I do worry.’ 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault,’ Chris immediately answered. Connor could hear the worry, but somehow, that freed his chest. A little. 

‘Just… hold on for an hour. That’s enough to get yourself some help. And if the hour is up, we’ll speak again. Do you think you can do that? Or is that too much pressure?’ 

Connor hesitated, just for a moment. Could he? An hour wasn’t that long, and half of that would be taken up by travel, if not longer… 

‘Yeah. Yeah, I think that’ll work. I can do that.’

Next thing he knew he’s making his way into the Subway, as if on autopilot. 

His phone clutched close, Connor remembers finding himself idly staring at the tracks. He doesn’t know how long he’d been doing this - two trains pass, three, four - but the thoughts in his head were troubling at best. 

What would it feel like to be hit by a train? Would it hurt at all, or would it be quick and easy? Or would the third rail kill him first (and that surely would hurt, wouldn’t it)? The station wasn’t busy, so there wouldn’t be too many traumatised… 

A hand on his arm made Connor flinch, but also broke him out of his thoughts. Turning his head to the side, he met the eyes of a young woman, her expressive eyebrows knit together in what could be worry. 

‘You alright there, man? Not having any funny ideas, are you?’

The redhead forced himself to smile, hoping it’d look somewhat real. 

‘No, sorry, just deep in thought.’ 

She raised an elegant eyebrow, looking him up and down once, but that seemed to be it. 

‘Well, just checking. Someone was worried, ya know, saying ya looked as if ya wanna jump.’

With that, she turned around, going back to a group of people and leaving Connor to release a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. His anxiety spiked, momentarily, making his fingers tingle; Connor was sure he’d never hoped a panic attack would just finally hit, but in this moment he did. 

From boarding the train, it was all a blur, as if Connor had been in trance when he got off, only somewhat waking up when he caught sight of the hospital sign. 

Now he’s sat on a bench just outside, intently staring at his phone screen while trying to recollect what happened in the last 30 minutes. 

He vaguely remembers taking a wrong turn and having to go back on himself, his steps slow - or did they just feel slow - and growing ever more unsure. And he may have stood at a traffic light, wondering whether a bus could have the same effect as a Subway train, but there had been children and Poptarts had texted him that he should call once he arrived and it had brought Connor back to reality. 

But back to the bench. To the present. Kevin still hasn’t replied to his earlier message, and Connor doesn’t want to annoy him, doesn’t want to be needy. Then again, he feels like he does need him, right now. 

His thumb hits send before his brain can catch up and hold him back. 

[Connor, 17:33] I’m not feeling well. Like, really not well.  
[Connor, 17:33] Actually, that’s an understatement.  
[Connor, 17:36] Call me when you can. Please. 

He doesn’t like feeling like this, and reading back the messages, he feels guilty. Kevin should be enjoying the last day at home, without any interruptions or, most importantly, without having to worry about anything but whether his flight will be delayed. 

[Connor, 17:47] Sorry if I’m annoying you. I don’t mean to. You should be enjoying the last day with your family instead of having to deal with my inability to be a normal human. :(  
[Connor, 17:49] And don’t worry about me.  
[Connor, 17:50] I know you will, because you’re wonderful like that, but there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine. 

So he sits, and waits, debating whether he really needs to go to hospital. It’s getting chillier, especially as he’s sitting here, motionless, but the hoodie keeps the worst of it out. 

Connor knows he probably should just go in, considering his thoughts and, yes, his actions, but part of him… part of him isn’t sure. It could only be a momentary lapse, an off day. 

Except he knows the last two, three days tell a very different story. And the story’s main character is everything – an actor, a dancer and crazily in love to name but three – but he’s not mentally healthy.

The phone in his hand buzzes. For a second, Connor thinks he is filled with elation, but when he sees the caller ID reading Poptarts rather than Kevin, it takes a hit. 

‘Are you doing better?’ 

Worry is evident in Poptarts voice, by now. The boy has always been an open book, and Connor doesn’t even need to see him to know what he looks like - brows knit together, one of his hands possibly fiddling with his tie or resting on his hip. 

’No.’

A deep breath. Calm, Connor. 

‘If anything, it’s worse. I’m still feeling pretty much nothing, except there’s this weird anxiety. It’s as if my body is setting itself up for the panic attack to end all panic attacks.

‘Or, you know, I could actually be dying from anxiety. Not sure if that’s possible, but it’s been brewing for a day or two, so… it might just be a very slow heart attack or something.’ 

‘Where are you, Connor?’ 

‘At the hospital. Well, outside. Debating whether I should be here. I mean, I’m sure there’s someone who needs the bed more urgently.’ 

That’s true, isn’t it? Surely, there’s a person in New York City who really needs a hospital bed. Maybe a child with cancer. Or a lung transplant. Something serious, a visible illness. 

‘No, they don’t.’ 

Chris’s voice softens, then, and Connor can feel the tears building once more. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Chris, or Kevin, or anyone who’s so willing to give their time, their affection, to keep him from being stupid.

‘You need help, Connor. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, or guilty. I’m saying it because I think that’s what you need to hear. I know you’re afraid of being labelled as crazy, but that won’t happen. 

’You’re having an emotional crisis. That’s all. They won’t lock you up, they won’t judge; all they’ll do is help you feel better.’

‘I know. Thank you. I’ll just… wait a bit longer to see if Kevin got my texts, and then I’ll go in. Promise.’ 

While he speaks, Connor distractedly runs his free hand through his hair, mussing it up even more than he already did - he didn’t exactly have the energy to check, or heavenly father forbid fix, his hairstyle before leaving the house. He didn’t have the energy yesterday, either, or the day before. 

At least he showered. In his current situation, that could nearly qualify as a medal-worthy achievement. 

‘Good. Can you text me a pin, please, so I know which hospital?’

‘Sure.’ 

‘Great. Let me know if anything changes. And I mean anything. And for goodness’ sake, call me if they’re trying to tell you you’re going crazy, or if they want to send you away, alright? I’m always here for you, no matter the time.’ 

‘Thank you, Poptarts.’ 

Chris makes a little sound Connor knows too well - it’s what he sounds like when he smiles. 

‘You’re welcome, carrot top. Be safe.’ 

After they disconnect, Connor just sits there. Sits, and waits, watching-yet-not-watching the people going past. 

The anxiety is still there, droning quietly in the background. Connor isn’t sure whether it’s a symptom or in itself the harbinger of more bad news (anxiety disorder on top of depression sounds just like something his fate would come up with), but he knows it’s uncomfortable and unsettling. 

Kevin doesn’t reply in the next 15 minutes. Or in the 10 after that. And then 10 more minutes pass, also without a reply or a call. He hasn’t even seen the messages, so he’s probably out and about. 

Connor would like to think there are hurt and angry slowly starting to bubble inside of him. Although at what exactly he should be angry about, he doesn’t know - it’s not really Kevin’s fault, none of this. The redhead just wants to feel something, anything, and those are strong feelings to have, so they’d do quite nicely. 

In reality, there’s nothing. Or not much, beyond the helplessness, the emptiness. 

It takes five more minutes for Connor to decide to actually go in.Another five and he gets up, patting down his pockets. Wallet, keys, still there. His fingers type one last message to Kevin as he slowly makes his way up. 

[Connor, 18:55] I love you. 

Inside, it’s warm.


	2. Chapter 2

Nobody bats an eye when the young man steps through the doors, too occupied with their own problems to spare a thought for others. Doubt tickles the redhead’s mind as he notices how busy it is, how many people are waiting. The line in front of the registration desk isn’t too long, but the waiting room looks to be a different story. 

And does he really want to sit between all these people, with the danger of a meltdown always present? 

Maybe it was a bad idea, after all. There’s a small child who sounds like they’ve screamed themselves hoarse; an elderly lady, looking frail as she cradles her arm. Connor half expects to be sent away, considering he’s mostly fine, apart from a few jumbled thoughts. 

Well, and that other thing he’d rather not think about, because it makes it all so real, so dangerous. 

It’s proof that, despite what he thought and lived these last years, he’ll never be fine. He’ll never be normal. 

The line moves even faster than anticipated, and before Connor has time to chicken out, it’s his turn and the nurse manning the desk is looking at him with expectant eyes. 

‘Sorry, what?’ 

Great way to make a first impression, his mind provides snarkily. 

‘Can I get your insurance and ID please? Triage is quite busy at the moment, so we’ll register you here now and get the chart started.’ 

‘Oh… oh, sure. Sorry, I must’ve zoned out there.’ 

For a minute or two, she’s busy typing, before turning back to Connor. 

‘And what’s the reason you’re here?’

The lump in his throat is back, and suddenly the former missionary is hyperaware of her gaze and of the implication anything he says may have. 

‘I’m… in severe emotional distress.’ 

‘Can you clarify that for me?’ 

She flashes him an apologetic smile. Her teeth are very white, Connor notices, and while she’s probably noting his every reaction, her eyes are open. 

‘Sorry if that’s hard, but we do need to prioritise a bit tonight.’ 

‘I’m… experiencing a severe low, but I’d rather keep the rest private for now.’ 

More typing. Any second now, she’ll probably ask if he’s thought about hurting himself, or about suicide, and then Connor will have to come clean. Just thinking about it he can feel his heart rate pick up. 

Nothing like that happens. The nurse just gives him another smile, before pointing towards the waiting area. 

‘If you’ll just take a seat for me, please, we’ll come and get you when we’re ready.’ 

And so the wait begins. The longer he sits, the more restless Connor feels himself getting. He takes a trip to the bathroom, just for the sake of moving, as the buzz in his veins makes his legs tingle. 

Facebook turns very boring very quickly. Reading the New York Times takes too much concentration, so he simply flicks through the theater headlines. Then through politics, but he’s depressed enough, so back to other culture. 

Then, boredom. 

‘Connor McKinley?’ 

As he gets up to go through, Connor checks the time. He’s been waiting for just under 30 minutes. Funny, it felt like a lifetime. 

The triage nurse leading him into a small examination room is pretty, her blonde hair held together by a sleek ponytail, and she gives him a warm smile as the door closes behind them.

‘Take a seat. Is it okay if I call you by your first name or would you rather not?’ 

’No, Connor is fine.’ 

‘Great. I’m Michelle. So, can you tell me in your own words why you’re here?’ 

This is it. Connor doesn’t really feel like repeating everything, like making it real and existing and a thing, but there’s no way out. He knows he’ll probably tell it all a few times, so best to get used to it. 

‘I’m severely depressed, with anxiety at a level where I constantly feel on the verge of a panic attack.’ 

She makes a note on her chart, but Connor doesn’t dare read it.

‘Okay, and when did this start?’ 

‘I’ve felt off and just, you know, down, like a minor episode, for 10 days, or so, but this started on Wednesday.’ 

‘So three days ago, is that correct?’ 

‘I think so. I’m not sure. My feeling for time is a bit messed up,’ Connor says, his hand once again running through his hair. 

He feels like he’s about to burst into tears. Again. Because he’s not cried enough already. 

‘I didn’t exactly sleep well, or much. I had three hours last night, maybe four, the rest I just spent lying around.’ 

Another note. The pen’s scratching is a weirdly soothing noise. 

‘Any other symptoms you can think of right now?’

Michelle is court, but friendly. Connor likes her.

‘I have to force myself to eat, because most of the time I just don’t have an appetite, and… and I feel like I don’t feel anything. I’ve cried a lot, too, and sometimes without reason. I feel like nothing will get better, like I’m a burden for my partner and my friends, and I just… can’t bring myself to do anything.’ 

‘How about your anxiety? Is that constant, or does it come and go?’ 

‘It’s been building for three, four days, but since yesterday it’s like constant background noise. Like a buzz. I’ve not had any panic attacks, though.’

She just hums, making another note while already asking the next question.

‘Have you taken anything against any of your symptoms or are you on any medication at the moment?’ 

In response, the former District Leader shakes his head. Speaking is surprisingly tiring, and non-verbal answers are just as well, it seems. 

‘Do you have any history with mental health issues? Or is this the first time this has happened?’

Are his hands shaking or is that just his brain?

‘About 10 years ago I was diagnosed with clinical depression and got therapy after I tried taking my own life. I had breaks, so it wasn’t like constant therapy, but I took Prozac for the full four years.’ 

‘So you were how old when you started?’

’14.’

Oh,gosh, he had been so young. He always thought he’d gotten over it, but right now, in this moment, something in his heart hurts. Whether it’s the depression, or what happened back then, or just the fact that he wishes Kevin was here is anyone’s guess. 

‘Connor, I’m going to ask you something very personal.’ As she turns her body fully towards the redhead, her gaze is open and warm. Expectant, yet non-judgemental. Like nothing can shock her. 

‘In the past three days, have you thought about suicide?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

Before his brain can keep up, Connor’s mouth seems to have made the executive decision to be honest, to be open. And suddenly, there’s feeling beyond the vast emptiness the redhead has been feeling for the past days. 

Shame is not what he would’ve chosen, though. Like a hot flush it douses his body, leaving his skin prickling in its wake. In its aftermath the panic, the old opportunist, rears its head. 

It feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest, crushing his lungs. Breathing is hard, and he’s close to hyperventilating when a warm hand lands on his. 

‘Deep breath. Come on, focus on me, not the panic. You’ve done so well so far,’ she’s using a tone of voice so similar to Kevin’s when he’s being comforting, Connor feels himself calming down, just slightly, as if on instinct. But below the surface, his anxiety keeps bubbling away. Quietly, as if in waiting. 

‘And we’re nearly done, too.’ 

Oh gosh, Kevin. Kevin. What would’ve happened if… no, Connor can’t go there, the moment he even touches on the thought of Kevin hearing of his suicide, of Kevin finding him, he feels sick. 

‘I didn’t just think about it.’

That really gets Michelle’s attention. 

‘What do you mean?’ 

Pulling his hand back, Connor burrows deeper into the hoodie. He can smell Kevin on it and no matter how weird or creepy it may be, it makes him feel safer. 

‘I cut myself, earlier. It wasn’t… well, I guess it was intentional, but it wasn’t… I… there was the knife, and I didn’t even realise at first, until I looked down.’ 

Now that he’s started, the Connor can’t stop. The tears come on their own and he doesn’t even attempt to suppress them, to stop them.

Michelle just nudges a box of tissues towards him, as if in invitation. He doesn’t take her up on it.

‘And, on the way here, I caught myself just staring at the Subway tracks, wondering what’d kill me first, what’d hurt less… I’m pretty sure I wasn’t far from jumping. I’d already stepped closer.

‘It’s not that I have a plan or anything, because I don’t… it’s like there’s this impulse, a drive, that suddenly takes over. As if it’s not me.’ 

‘What kept you from hurting yourself?’ 

‘Kevin… he’s my boyfriend. And Poptarts… Chris… my best friend. I called him, earlier, and he told me to come here.’ 

‘They sound like some really good guys.’

‘The best.’ 

There’s a long silence, during which the only sound in the room is the scratching of pencil on paper. The phone in his hand buzzes, but Connor doesn’t dare look at it, in case it’s not Kevin. 

Another, much shorter buzz, announcing a text. 

Then Michelle’s gaze is upon him again, and Connor steels himself for whatever may happen. 

‘Okay, first of all, it’s really important, and really good, that you came. You probably won’t be surprised by this, but I do suggest we keep you on as a voluntary patient,’ the nurse’s voice is calm and soft, as if talking to a spooked animal. 

‘You have the right to refuse this, but I can tell you that - in your current state - the doctor who’ll see you will very likely admit you as an involuntary patient if you do. Which means you’ll still have to stay here, but you won’t be able to simply leave when you feel better.’

Her honesty brings relief and pain at the same time. Connor knows he needs it, knows he should’ve seen it coming, but he still expected to be given a Xanax or two before being sent on his way. 

Somehow, he’s happy that that’s not the case. 

‘What happens if I decide to go voluntarily?’ 

The fear is slowly growing stronger again, now that the unknown is about to open before him. It’s so exhausting, Connor can’t help the yawn as Michelle starts taking his pulse and blood pressure.

‘There might be a bit of a wait,’ she explains. 

‘But I do worry about your mental state and don’t think you should be on your own right now. So I’ll get someone to sit with you, while we’ll call for hopefully a psychiatrist to do a proper assessment.’ 

She’s methodical but warm, and it eases Connor’s nerves immensely when the nurse hums under her breath as she takes notes. The cut on his arms is inspected and disinfected before she fastens a hospital bracelet around his arm, filled out in neat handwriting. 

‘Then we’ll get you to change, and you’ll have a more thorough exam with the doctor, before we decide whether you can stay here or will have to be transferred into another hospital.’ 

Their eyes meet, just for a second, before Connor has to look away again.

‘Okay, I guess.’ 

In a bid to busy himself, he checks his phone, regardless of whether it’s rude or not, while Michelle makes a call to ‘send someone who can supervise a patient, please’. Considering the choice he just made, he needs distraction or he’ll know he’ll panic, this time for real. 

Reading the name on the display, he begins to tremble. Kevin. Kevin called, and he texted, and called again, and Connor’s fingers tingle as he unlocks the screen. 

[Kevin, 19:55] I love you too <3  
[Kevin, 19:57] Sorry, I forgot my phone at my gran’s house this morning and only could go back now  
[Kevin, 19:58] Answer your phone  
[Kevin, 20:00] Where are you??  
[Kevin, 20:03] Did I do something wrong?  
[Kevin, 20:04] Connor??!!!?!

There are two further missed calls. 

[Kevin, 20:10] Call me when you get this.

‘You’re really brave, Connor. And I promise we’ll help.’ 

Just as the words leave her mouth, there’s a knock on the door, and one of the security guards enters. He gives Connor the smallest of smiles, his already white teeth looking even brighter against the contrast of his dark skin. 

‘Come on, then. I’ll keep you company.’


	3. Chapter 3

Kevin has taken to pacing the living room of his parents’ house, his childhood home, only stopping occasionally to stare out of the large glass doors and into the garden. 

Something is off, very off, and he can’t help but read Connor’s messages over and over again. There’s no doubt the other man hasn’t been feeling great for the last two weeks, has been struggling, but he’d been so adamant about Kevin taking time to visit his family. 

The young man probably shouldn’t have gone, not on his own and when he knew Connor was struggling. 

If only his aunt and uncle would’ve been more accepting, more open. It had all been fair and well to hear ‘Oh, you should’ve brought your boyfriend along’ when the Prices had arrived at the wedding, to know they weren’t the raging homophobes Kevin and his siblings took them for. Yet the oldest Price can’t help but bitterly think how much nicer it would’ve been if the written invite had been addressed to Kevin Price and Connor McKinley. 

Heck, it would’ve been enough for his aunt to just verbally invite Connor when Kevin had called to confirm his attendance. Especially since they both seemed to have taken a shine to him when they finally met, on a visit to New York. (Admittedly, when they’d requested Kevin give them a tour, they probably hadn’t banked on him bringing his partner. But Kevin, far from the picture-perfect missionary he once was, had been fed up with that part of the family pretending Connor didn’t exist.)

‘Kevin, can you please calm down and sit still, just for a minute? You’re making me nervous, sweetheart.’ 

Looking up from the newspaper, Mrs Price gives her eldest son a slightly disapproving look. She hasn’t looked at him like that in years, but then it gives way to a soft smile. 

‘What’s got you so worked up?’ 

Kevin is just about to answer, to spill all, wen his phone starts ringing. The familiar tone playing out loud, the former missionary doesn’t waste a single second, doesn’t even glance at the screen, before answering. Only one person has that particular ringtone. 

‘Connor?’

‘…Hi,’ comes a meek voice from the other end of the line.

‘Oh, gosh, Con! What’s going on? Where are you?’ 

He spares one more look at his mother, but she’s already, quietly, making her way towards the stairs, to give her son some privacy. Kevin shoots her a smile, but still makes his way towards the doors, sitting on the half landing. 

‘Are you alright?’ 

He knows the answer before he’s asked the question, but Kevin still waits with bated breath. He can hear faint noise in the background, unfamiliar, like crowds of people and doors sliding open and shut.

’No,’ Connor nearly whispers. 

‘No, I’m not. I’m far from alright, Kev, and I’m really scared. But I can’t tell you, least of all over the phone, you shouldn’t… shouldn’t have to deal with this. With me like this.’ 

There’s a waver in Connor’s voice, a little hiccup, that Kevin knows all too well. He’s not heard it much, but the sound of Connor crying, silently, is unmistakable still. 

‘Where are you, Connor? And what happened? I can hear you cry, so please just tell me?’ 

The resigned sigh is clearly audible, followed by a low groan. It takes a second, two, three, before there is any further sound from the other end of the line.

‘I’m in ER. And before you worry, I’m not hurt, I’m fine, I swear,’ he takes a deep breath, and Kevin can hear cloth rustling, can just imagine the redhead wiping his face with his sleeve. In Kevin’s mental images it makes Connor look incredibly, stunningly, shockingly young. Small, even. 

‘But promise you won’t be angry at what I’m going to tell you?’ 

‘No, no, I could never be angry with you for being in hospital.’ 

By now, Kevin’s stomach is in knots. This came unexpected, so out of the blue, he doesn’t know what’ll follow.

And, truth be told, nothing could’ve prepared him. 

‘I’m… I’m waiting to see a psychiatrist, or any doctor really, and I’ll definitely be here overnight, because… cause… gosh, this is so hard. I cut myself earlier, Kev, and it… it wasn’t an accident. My depression has gotten really bad, like really really bad, now that the stress is over and I… thought about… I’m on suicide watch.’ 

It’s like someone punched Kevin in the stomach. Suddenly, the world is spinning, and he has to hold onto the doorframe for a second to ground himself. 

‘Kevin? Do you… hate me now?’ 

If possible, Connor sounds even smaller, even more vulnerable than two minutes ago. Kevin knows it must’ve cost him a lot to admit all of this to himself, and then to say it out loud again. 

‘No, no, I could never hate you. Never, you hear?’ 

‘Okay,’ comes the barely audible reply. In a flash, Kevin has made a decision. 

‘But I’m coming home, as soon as possible.’ 

‘What? Oh, no, Kevin, you shouldn’t… you don’t have to… you should be with your family, sweetie, you shouldn’t cut this short because I’m unable to cope with whatever set me off.’ 

‘I’m not taking any argument on this, Con. None. Nada. Zilch. I’ll try and rebook, come home early, because I know how much you hate hospitals and I can’t stand the thought of you being all by yourself until Monday morning, alright?’ 

There’s no answer, just a quiet sniffle and more rustling. 

‘Connor?’ 

‘I don’t… how do I deserve you, Kevin?’ 

‘Oh, darling, have you looked at yourself?’

That gets a chuckle out of the other man, however small and sniffy it may be, and Kevin can’t help but smile.

‘I have, and I look horrible.’ 

‘Well, I doubt that’s true, but even if - you don’t just deserve me because you’re pretty,’ the younger man shoots back, making sure to keep his tone light. 

‘You’re also smart, and kind, and talented,… do I need to go on?’ 

‘I wish, but my battery is low, both literally and figuratively, and I feel like I’ll have a panic attack any minute… plus the security guy watching me is probably fed up with me crying, so I guess we should hang up.’ 

‘You sure?’ 

‘Don’t really have a choice, I guess.’ 

Connor probably looks dishevelled, Kevin thinks, and his cheeks will definitely be blotchy by now. He can just see it in his mind’s eye, red hair and white skin and an arm protectively wrapped around himself, or a hand buried in his hair or stroking his neck. (Kevin has never asked exactly why Connor is such a master in self-soothing, but he can take an educated guess.)

‘Alright, then. Can you let me know which hospital?’

‘Will do.’

‘Thank you. And hey, Con?’

‘Hm?’

‘I love you.’ 

Kevin can practically hear the small, sad smile, when Connor replies in kind, before hanging up.

With a heavy sigh, the young man lets himself fall backwards, hitting the wooden floorboards with a dull thump. Barely a minute later, there are soft steps, and his mother’s face hovers into view as she leans over him. 

‘Everything alright between the two of you?’ 

‘Yeah, we’re good,’ comes the instant reply. It’s true – they are good, it’s just Connor’s mental health taking a hit, Kevin muses as he stretches and slowly gets up. 

And it’s not like they didn’t see this a mile coming. In hindsight, they shouldn’t have refused to really acknowledge it, but Kevin hadn’t wanted to upset Connor and chose to follow his boyfriend’s lead instead. 

‘But?’ 

He meets his mom’s eyes, and suddenly, overwhelmingly, Kevin feels the overwhelming need to tell someone everything he’s learnt about his partner over the past months. 

‘Connor isn’t well, mom.’

If his voice breaks halfway through the sentence, Kevin doesn’t want to acknowledge it. The soft hand landing on his biceps makes it real enough. 

‘What do you mean when you say not well?’

‘He’s in hospital, and I need to rebook my flight to go home.’

She guides him to the sofa, before sitting down across from him. Kevin knows this scenario, intimately - it’s Mrs Price’s way of getting her children to be open, to confess their sorrows. 

‘Okay, be honest, Kevin. What did he say on the phone just now to have you look so worried, hm?’ 

The last time they sat like that, he came out to her, told her all about Connor, about how they started and how stupidly, giddily in love they were (and, his mind supplies, still are). 

Despite the risk of being disowned, it had been less scary than this.

‘Years ago, Connor was diagnosed with depression. He had a pretty bad panic attack a few months ago, which is how I found out,’ Kevin starts, keeping a close eye on his mother’s face. 

‘I don’t know if he’s okay with telling you the reason why - heck, I don’t even know if he’s okay with me telling you this, but he’ll have to be - so I won’t, but well… we both noticed he had a bit of a rough patch in the last two weeks, but it seems it was worse than we both expected and, well, accepted.’ 

‘And…?’

At that, Kevin can’t hold back anymore. It takes the first tear to drop onto his hand before the former missionary notices he’s crying, but when he does, there’s no stopping. 

‘And now he’s in hospital, on suicide watch, because it’s all gotten so bad that Connor feels like he can’t cope in any other way.’

Drawing in a shuddering breath, he wipes his eyes dry, forcing himself to stop crying. There’ll be enough time for that later.

‘But the worst… the worst is how he sounded so… I don’t know how to describe it, but just so small, and he thought I could hate him, or be angry. I know it’s not him speaking, not really, but it’s just… I can’t stay here knowing he’s feeling that awful, mom, I just can’t.

‘I shouldn’t have left him alone in the first place, I should’ve just said to heck with it and brought him along to the wedding.’

His mother’s reaction is instant, but it’s not what Kevin expected. He thought she’d hug him, offer comfort like only a mother can; Kevin never thought she’d say ‘well, book two flights, then’.

It’s so much of a surprise, he just stares for a minute. 

‘What?’ 

‘I’m coming with you, and I don’t accept any argument.’ 

‘But, mom, you don’t have to come… I’ll probably be in hospital a lot of the time anyways. I don’t know, how do these things work?’ 

He’s seen his mother look at him in many ways, but the way her eyes soften is comfortingly familiar and weirdly foreign at the same time. 

‘I’m not just coming for you, Kevin,’ Mrs Price says, gently patting her son’s knee. 

As her words sink in, Kevin continues to simply stare in awe. 

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she chuckles. 

‘Connor has been part of this family from the moment we first met him, and he always will be. It might have taken your father and me a few weeks to get used to the idea of you being gay, but he’s become like another son for us.

‘And given his own family situation, which I assume plays part in this, you and me both know that it’s more than just unlikely his own mother will offer any comfort.’

‘Oh, gosh, mom,’ is all Kevin can say, before hugging his mother close. This time, he doesn’t make any effort to stop the tears, or to hide them.

He’s always known his parents were accepting and supportive of his relationship, of him and Connor, but her declaration, so openly against Church doctrine, makes Kevin feel warm inside. 

‘Shh, darling, we’ll work it all out,’ Mrs Price mumbles into her son’s hair, holding him close as if he was a young child again.

‘It sounds scary now, I know, but he’s in good hands. Now come on, we’ve got flights to book and catch, and I’ll have to talk to your dad.’ 

Barely an hour later, they’re halfway to the airport. They just about make their flight, albeit with some tricky arguing from Kevin’s dad and a mad dash through Salt Lake City airport.

Looking out over the mountains below, Kevin can’t help but wonder what to expect. If he’s completely honest with himself, he doesn’t really want to think about it, because it only conjures up unwanted imagery.

Beside him, his mother is a quiet, reassuring presence, seemingly engrossed in a book. Like when he was younger, Kevin’s head drops onto her shoulder, a slight sigh leaving his body; whether out of boredom or sorrow he doesn’t quite know, but it feels good to be close like this. In response, one of her hands comes up to run through his hair, alternating between mussing up and smoothing down the thick, blond strands.

And just like when he was younger, sleep soon claims him, his worries forgotten for the next four hours.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so - I did research the medical stuff, and I spoke to a few people about their experiences. It's a mix of their experiences, but please do point out if I get anything medical absolutely wrong. 
> 
> (Also, please do consider I'm not American, and US hospitals seem to work quite differently do the ones I'm used to...)

If hospital waiting rooms are uncomfortable and surreal, sitting in one with a minder next to you is even worse. 

Connor doesn’t mind the company, he really doesn’t - quite the opposite, is he’s honest with himself - but he did mind other people’s looks. 

The furtive, sometimes uncomfortable glances in their direction, the way a mother pulled her little girl back when she made to walk over to him; the way an elderly lady stopped talking when they came back in, after he’d spoken to Kevin on the phone. 

At this point, the panic attack hadn’t been all that surprising, but its intensity had knocked Connor for six. 

Which is why he is here, now, sitting on a bed in an otherwise bare room, the door slightly ajar, and still waiting for a doctor, in lieu of the apparently absent psychiatrist. 

It’s been 90 minutes or so since, definitely longer than it probably should take to see someone who clearly stated he has suicidal thoughts. 

Then again, it’s not like he can make off. For one, he doesn’t want to, and he’s sure his big, burly companion – no, Gus, he’s got a name and I should use it – wouldn’t hesitate to tackle him if he did. Not to mention the panic attack, which is still keeping him hostage. Isolation, a quiet room, was probably the nurse’s attempt at giving him some peace, to calm him down, but it hasn’t exactly done much. 

They had offered a sedative, too, but Connor had politely declined, saying he’d get through this. 

Well. That didn’t quite work out as planned, given he’s sitting here, legs pulled up and hugged close to his chest while his mind conjures up images Connor doesn’t want to spend too much time thinking about. They’ve gotten more abstract, now that he’s not alone, but that doesn’t mean thinking about his own death - and being aware of it - is any less disturbing. Which, in turn, only heightens his already sky-high panic. 

It’s a spiral, and Connor feels like no matter what he does, he can’t win. 

‘You alright there, buddy?’ 

Connor barely raises his head from where it’s resting between his knees, and slowly blinks at Gus. 

‘It’s not getting worse, which I’ll clock as a win,’ he says, before bending down again, hugging his legs closer still and making an effort to breathe slow and deep. 

‘Then again, I don’t think it can get much worse.’ 

‘Maybe you should’ve taken that benzo they offered.’ 

This time, Connor doesn’t bother with a verbal reply, only with a non-committal hum. Apart from trying not to hyperventilate, he’s feeling nauseous from the ongoing fear, to the point where he’s expecting… oh, yep. 

As the redhead pretty much dashes to the bathroom across the hall, he relies on Gus to read the signs correctly and not trigger any form of alarm. But as he’s retching and heaving, he doesn’t care about much beyond trying not to choke. 

The last time he felt this rotten had been his first week in Uganda, and the stomach bug that came with it. 

His breath is panting, his heart racing, when a strong, warm hand lands between Connor’s shoulder blades, stroking his back once, twice and startling him for a second. A cup of water appears in his line of sight, as if conjured up by magic, and as he turns around, he comes face to face with Gus. 

‘Feel better?’ 

‘Not really, no, but thanks for asking,’ Connor mumbles, his voice rough, before rinsing his mouth. The sour taste of bile vanishes surprisingly quickly, but the muscles in his stomach remain sore and cramped. 

Gus chuckles, a warm, low sound, before offering the redhead a hand up, catching the young man against his chest as he stumbles. Connor doesn’t know if it’s his racing mind playing tricks, but he could swear the security guard hugged him a bit closer before letting go and leading him back. 

‘They’re chasing for a doc again,’ Gus says as he sits down in his chair next to Connor, making sure to turn towards him as he speaks. 

‘Might still be a while. They’re busy, or something. But hey, how about you tell me about the guy you phoned earlier? Your best friend? Boyfriend?’ 

The former district leader sees straight through his companion’s ploy, sees it as the distraction it is, but he can’t bring himself to mind. 

‘Boyfriend,’ he answers. 

‘His name’s Kevin.’

‘Ah, see? There’s a little smile on your face.’ Gus chuckles as he pats Connor’s hand. 

‘So what’s he like, eh, your Kevin? Where d’ya meet?’ 

Every word feels like it needs special care and Connor’s still close to hyperventilating, but maybe, maybe this’ll help by taking his mind off all the shitty things. 

‘We met in Uganda, actually, while serving our missions. I was District Leader, still convincing… well, kidding myself, saying I was straight,’ Connor’s voice shakes, and he has to stop for a second as a new wave of nausea hits him. He swallows, thickly, pushing all thoughts of conversion therapy, of playing it straight, to the back of his mind to think of Kevin instead. 

‘And he was this really handsome, if a a bit full of himself, new missionary, ambitious to a fault and hailed to be the best Mormon there ever was. His ego took a bit of a hit in the first week, to put it mildly. He and his companion nearly got us all excommunicated and the mission shut down, but, well… afterwards, it was just a lot more relaxed. 

‘We were told to stop spreading the faith, to focus on humanitarian work instead, and the two of use just grew closer. We didn’t do much, being sexually repressed, religious barely-adults in a country where homosexuality can get you killed, and I… I just pined after him for a long, long time, much to the amusement and annoyance of my companion. 

‘And one day he kissed me, when it was only the two of us, and that’s kinda how it all started.’ 

The distraction is working, Connor thinks. His hands have stopped shaking and only an uncomfortable, weird tingling remains. Next to him, Gus wears a wide, happy grin. 

‘What a story! He treats you well, I hope?’ 

No matter his state, and his emotional turmoil, Connor can’t resist the small smile breaking out on his face as he nods, running a hand through his hair. 

‘Yeah.’ 

To his own ears, it sounds more like a sigh than anything else. 

‘He’s with his parents in Utah right now, but said he’d come home early. Knowing him, he’ll probably be here tomorrow at lunchtime, latest. 

‘And he’s just… I don’t know, this sounds really soppy, but he’s the best thing to ever happen to me. Sees me for the person I am, you know?’ 

Ironically, the moment Connor feels the panic subside is also the moment someone knocks on the doorframe, waiting just a second or two before entering. The doctor is reasonably tall, his grip firm and reassuring as he shakes Connor’s hand. 

‘Connor, correct? Or would you prefer I use your formal name?’ 

’No, no, Connor’s fine.’ 

‘Well, then, Connor, I’m Dr Brennan, and I’ll check you over before we decide what we’ll do with you.’ 

The former missionary can’t quite put his finger on it, but something about the doctor is off. He seems pleasant enough, though, despite Connor’s anxiety levels spiking again. 

‘If you’d please leave us alone.’ 

Gus just nods as he gets up, clapping Connor on the shoulder and giving him a thumbs up and an encouraging smile before he closes the door behind himself. 

The following silence, short as it may be, is deafening. Connor can feel the tell-tale queasiness accompanying a new surge of panic, and he knows he’s definitely hyperventilating by now, but now that someone with medical training bothered to see him, he’s beyond trying to reign himself in. 

Might as well play it up a bit. 

‘So, Connor, I’ve got the chart here, but could you please tell me again why you’re here tonight?’ 

Internally, the young man rolls his eyes, but dutifully begins to repeat his story. It’s probably to make sure he’s not just after drugs, or anything.

‘I’m experiencing a severe depressive episode and really bad anxiety, and I’m not safe on my own.’ 

Dr Brennan looks expectant, as if waiting for more. 

‘I’ve also just sat through a roughly 90 minute panic attack which is flaring up again, and I’m feeling like I’ll throw up again, so…’ 

He’s passed the trashcan, albeit with an apologetic look, while the doctor begins his exam. 

‘Sorry, it’s not glamorous, but just in case,’ he says, putting down the chart and disinfecting his hands.

As the clinical smell reaches his nose, Connor is sick a second time. It’s as if his body has turned against him, defying rhyme and reason, on all accounts. He’s alone, he’s vulnerable, and his mind is using the opportunity to have all the waves crash down at once. 

The whole ordeal is over as quick as it started. Dr Brennan merely raises an eyebrow, offering Connor some water, but he declines. 

‘Alright, then, let’s get you checked over.’ 

It’s uncomfortable, to say the least, as the doc checks Connor over, meticulously. Blood pressure, pulse, height and weight, everything. It all happens in absolute, nearly stony silence, except when Brennan asks a question, leaving the redhead to steep in his own mind, in the depression and the thoughts he pushed back so long. Thoughts of third rails, of bridges, of scalpels surely hidden away in the drawers. 

They’ve grown more abstract, far more abstract - it’s more a ‘what would people feel’ than a ‘which one is best’ – but Connor still feels cold shivers down his back.

‘Have you done any drugs or drank any alcohol in the past week?’ 

‘I’m Mormon.’

Dr Brennan looks up. 

‘Yeah, and very far away from the holy land.’ Connor bristles at the way he says it. It sounds weirdly offensive, the doctor’s tone mocking. 

‘Nothing? Exams are long over, are you sure you didn’t go celebrate? Have a beer or two, some weed, maybe a pill? Or something to keep you focused during preparation?’

Oh, so that’s where he’s coming from. The young feels his eyebrows knot together, to reflect the confusion and, indeed, slight anger building. 

Inside him, the darkness is gently fanning the spark, taunting it to grow.

‘I’m not actually from anywhere even near Utah,’ Connor starts, taking a deep breath to calm himself and order his thoughts, before he does anything brash. 

‘No matter my religious status, I don’t drink or do drugs, so no, I have not. I also only had my last exam on Tuesday, and I have private classes to attend over the break, so couldn’t afford it even if I wanted to.’ 

Brennan’s eyes, cold and grey, have fixed themselves onto the young man; but, stubborn as he is, Connor refused to back down, although he does feel himself shrink back just a little. 

‘Listen, Connor, here’s what I think. You suddenly have a lot of free time, maybe did something stupid you now don’t want to admit,’ at this, the doctor nods, as if wanting to place emphasis on a point. 

The only thing Connor can concentrate on is his voice. Brennan sounds incredibly patronizing, as if speaking to a small child. Except that Connor is far from that age.

‘I’m not sure what you hoped for when you came tonight, but it sounds as if a good, long sleep might fix this.’ 

‘Bullshit.’ 

Sometimes, Connor McKinley surprises himself, and it seems that today might be one of those days. 

‘If it did, I wouldn’t be here, Dr Brennan. If it did, I would’ve taken an Ambien or two and just slept, instead of letting my insomnia run me down to this point.’ 

It’s now or never. As his fingers fidget with the hoodie sleeves, twisting and wrapping and worrying, Connor makes an effort to look the other man straight into his eyes. 

‘I haven’t really left my apartment, or the bed, since Wednesday, because you know, depression. That’s just how this works. I managed to shower this morning, which I’m kinda proud of, because that was quite a challenge and took an hour or two.’ 

Now that he’s started talking, that the irritation and anger have tasted freedom, the redhead feels like he just wants to keep talking. 

‘I have suffered from anxiety in a way I’ve never experienced before. I’ve cried more than I thought possible. So what did I expect from coming here? Some help to get out of this hole, even if it’s just until I can get an actual psychiatrist to take this mess I am and do something with it.’ 

For a moment, silence hangs between them, before a weird smile stretches across the doctor’s face. 

’You’re just a little sad, that happens. Maybe it’s because you suddenly have all this free time, or there was heartbreak, but I swear, Connor, two Xanax, a good sleep and you’re more than likely to be right as rain.’ 

From where he’s sat on the bed, Connor can’t believe what he’s witnessing. People in therapy had always spoken about how they hadn’t been taken seriously at first, how medical professionals - people who should know better - had belittled them, even subtly. 

‘No.’ 

Without noticing, he’s curled up more into himself again, without breaking eye contact. 

‘No, it won’t. I am telling you, I’m not just sad, I’m a danger to myself,’ he’s making every word count, enunciating and making sure his speech is clear. 

‘Earlier, I cut myself, and it was not an accident. I didn’t want to, but I also didn’t to stop, Dr Brennan. I thought about what would happen if maybe, maybe, I cut myself again. And again. On the way here, I very briefly considered jumping in front of a train. And then a bus.’

The tears don’t even surprise Connor anymore. At 14, he had been so self-conscious about the fact that his illness made him cry about the most marginal things. That he was a cliche patient. Now, having grown into himself, he’s decided to own it, to use it to his advantage. 

‘So excuse me for coming here, but all I want and need is help. I need help, because I am depressive, and have suicidal thoughts, and I am just so fucking scared.’ 

On the last words, Connor’s voice finally breaks, giving way to quiet sobs as he hides his head between his knees once more. 

He doesn’t see Dr Brennan ring the call button, fidgeting a little, unsure of how to proceed. He doesn’t hear the low conversation taking place at the door, doesn’t want to hear it, because it would mean facing reality. Facing, and accepting, that maybe Connor imagined this to be too easy. 

A petite hand on his arm rouses Connor from whatever stupor he sank into. As he looks up, he meets a familiar pair of green eyes - standing there is Michelle, her cheerfully pink scrubs a stark contrast against his otherwise bleak surroundings, against the doctor’s white coat. 

Behind her, Gus carefully steps into the room.

Hurriedly, Connor wipes his eyes, attempting to look presentable. 

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ she soothes, stroking his arm once more.

‘My colleague is phoning around right now, so we can get you a bed, hopefully here. But whatever the outcome, we’ll make sure you’re ready, so I need you to change into this. Can you do that?’ 

She points to a small bundle at the foot of the bed. Connor doesn’t have to look too closely to know what it is, so he just nods, meekly. Taking that as enough of an answer, Michelle and Dr Brennan leave the two men alone. 

‘Can I… keep my underpants?’

‘Yup,’ Gus simply says. 

‘But nothing else, I’m afraid.’ 

‘Shoes?’ 

A simple shake of the head is his first answer, but as the security guard sees the confusion on Connor’s face, he hastens to explain. 

‘Shoelaces. Apparently, people have, you know.’ 

Committed suicide with them. He doesn’t have to spell it out for Connor to know. 

The gown is surprisingly soft, but the fastenings provide an entirely new challenge to the redhead - one in which his flexibility is limited by the oh-so-familiar, bone-deep weariness. But without prompting, his new friend (and Connor does regard him as such) offers help, neatly tying bows to hold the garment together.

From then on, it all goes past like a blur. Michelle takes a blood sample, a more detailed history and Kevin’s contact details. Somehow, Connor ends up with an IV port in his arm, for whichever reason. 

At some point, they take him up to the mental health ward, Gus and Michelle handing him over to an new nurse and a new sitter, minder, whatever you want to call her. 

The admission interview - long and detailed, with the new nurse asking new questions mixed in with the old, digging much deeper than anyone did – is exhausting, emotionally as well as physically. 

Yet even when he’s finally in his own room, right next to the nurse’s station, the redhead can’t find rest. His minder is quiet, reading a book and ever so often glancing up at him, but that does nothing to soothe the young man.

She’s younger than Gus, and Connor feels constantly watched. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, one that makes him fidgety and uneasy. Until a proper, more appropriate doctor arrives at his bedside, sitting down for another short talk. 

They decide to properly speak in the morning. For now, the panic has subsided, but Connor’s still told they can give him something if it comes back, if he feels like he needs it. 

Then, it’s back to nothingness, to emptiness and insecurity and guilt. 

As Connor navigates the newly attached IV line to curl up on his side, the unfamiliar, impersonal scent coming off hospital sheets enveloping him as his own emotions crash over him once more, he holds onto the hope of Kevin checking in.

It’s a thin sliver, true, but it’s something, and it keeps the demons at bay. Behind him, the unnamed girl turns a page in her book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...in the writing of which I learnt that I don't know how to describe throwing up. I guess that's the benefit of not having been sick for about 15 years... 
> 
> Anyways, I promise, it will get better.


	5. Chapter 5

Everything ran so smoothly, Kevin thinks there must be something lurking behind the door he’s waiting in front of. As it turns out, some hospital wards you can’t just walk onto, but you have to ring a bell (and isn’t that ironic, for a former missionary like him?) and wait until someone picks you up. 

His mother is on the way to his and Connor’s apartment, keys in hand and her son’s luggage in the boot of a taxi. All Kevin has on him is a change of clothes, hastily stuffed into his hand luggage, his metro card, phone and wallet. 

The other baggage, though it may be invisible, weighs far heavier. Even as a smiling nurse opens the door, leading him onto the dimly lit corridor, Kevin keeps worrying. 

Behind them, the door falls shut, the automatic lock clicking into place. Goosebumps rise on Kevin’s arms. 

‘I’ll need to search your bag, please,’ she says as they reach the nurse’s station.

‘It’s standard procedure and has nothing to do with whomever you’re visiting. However, since Mr McKinley…’

‘Connor,’ Kevin interrupts, an apologetic look plastered onto his face like in his old missionary days. The nurse just smiles, before continuing. 

‘Since Connor is classified as a suicide risk, you need to take off your jacket, please, as well as your belt. And we’ll keep your bag here, at least for now.’ 

As he parts from his hoodie and pulls the supple leader out of the loops, Kevin is happy he’s wearing a fairly tight pair of jeans. It won’t slip, even without the additional hold. 

Still, the eerie quiet makes him fidget. 

‘Don’t worry, Mr Price,’ she smiles at him, and it’s weirdly reassuring. 

‘He’ll be fine. He’s in emotional distress, yes, but it’s nothing we can’t fix. It’s good Connor admitted himself when he did, because he does need some help, but tomorrow the world will already look different.’

Momentarily stumped by her optimism, Kevin just nods, watching as his belongings are neatly tidied away. 

‘Can I see him?’ 

‘Sure, I only have to ask you not to close the door. He received medication helping with the panic attacks just now, so there is the chance he’ll be asleep or a bit out of it,’ she explains, leading Kevin just across the hall. 

‘But be assured, that’s normal and intended. It just means that he won’t remember parts of, or the entire conversation, tomorrow. He’s also receiving an IV to settle some dehydration.’

Kevin doesn’t dare look in through the window, so he anxiously waits by the door after his guide signals him to wait. A minute later she comes back, followed a young woman with a book clutched in her hand.

‘Go on then,’ the nurse inclines her head towards the door, just as her arm lands on Kevin’s shoulder. 

‘Don’t look so scared, there’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s still the Connor you know. Plus, sometimes, support from someone close to you can make a whole lot of difference.’

As she makes her way towards another room a few doors down, Kevin assembles all his might and steps over the threshold.

Admittedly, he’d expected much worse. Restraints, machines, anything. Reality is nothing like Kevin’s wayward imagination predicted. 

Seemingly asleep, head turned away from the door, Connor looks like his usual self. Maybe a bit paler, pastier. His hair, though, is a stark contrast against the pristine, white sheets. Relief washes over Kevin like a warm wave, taking some of his apprehension away. 

Oh, thank God. 

Only when Connor moves, slowly turning his head towards the door, does Kevin realize he said it out loud – and his partner is, in fact, awake. As his eyes widen in surprise and what Kevin hopes to be delight, the redhead kind-of scrambles to sit up. 

A faint ‘whoa, nope’ is all Kevin hears before Connor flops down again. His eyes remain transfixed onto the younger man, though, and for a second Kevin feels weirdly watched, like an animal in a zoo. 

‘Are you real, or am I hallucinating now, too?’ 

He sounds tired and weary, and Kevin hastens to make his way over so they can talk as privately as possible. 

‘I’m real, I promise.’

He reaches out in reassurance, one of his hands gently sweeping back Connor’s hair. Just like the former missionary imagined, it’s mussed up and slightly curly, far from the other man’s usually so controlled style.

‘How are you feeling?’ 

As soon as the words have left his mouth, Kevin feels like kicking himself. He’s in hospital, on a psych ward, how’s he supposed to feel, the berating little voice in his ear, which sounds annoyingly like his aunt, argues. 

‘Better, actually,’ comes the muted reply, momentarily stumping the younger man. 

’I mean, it’s still not grand or anything, but you’re here and that makes everything better.’ 

‘Hallucinations, though?’

Connor stretches, carefully, slowly, and for the first time, Kevin realizes his boyfriend is definitely not wearing his own clothes. 

‘They gave me Ativan, I think. Some benzodiazepine. Last time I got Valium, and that gave me have some freaky hallucinations at first, so I was… sceptical just now.’ 

Kevin takes his hand, being careful not to get tangled the IV as he links their fingers. 

‘Well, I’m real, that’s for sure. I only hope I haven’t grown a second head or some extra arms.’ 

That gets a chuckle out of Connor, and he slightly shakes his head no, throwing in a weak swat for good measure.

‘Nah, you’re fine. I definitely can’t sit up, though,’ he starts, stopping for a second as if to assemble his thoughts. The sedative must be fully kicking in, Kevin thinks, and the slight lines of confusion on Connor’s face support his assumption.

‘Because when I try, I get really dizzy, that needle,’ he taps the IV port, as if for emphasis, ‘twinges and my arms are just a little weak. Which also means I can’t hug you, or anything, and which is why I have bedrails, like an old lady. Apparently, I’m a fall risk.’

Something like amusement creeps into Connor’s words, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

‘Well, then, don’t sit up,’ Kevin chides, gently, making sure to keep his tone light. Like with a mind of his own, his hand sweeps over Connor’s forehead, in a gesture his mother always used to fight headaches.

‘If you want a hug, though, that can be arranged.’ 

He doesn’t wait for a verbal answer; looking at Connor’s face is enough. Usually, it’s a pretty open book to Kevin, but tonight, there’s absolutely not masking anything. Delight is still visible, yes, but underneath, Connor looks almost raw.

It takes a little navigation, and Kevin does bang his ribs against the rail, but when he hugs the redhead close things instantly feel a bit better. Connor’s arms circle around him, while he buries his head against Kevin’s shirt. 

‘I’m so happy you’re here,’ he whispers, and Kevin would’ve missed it if the room wasn’t so devoid of any other sounds. As it is, he suspects an answer would make Connor uncomfortable, so the former missionary decides to simply squeeze his partner a little tighter. 

‘This okay?’ 

He feels Connor’s ‘yeah’ more than he hears it, but it sounds small enough to make Kevin never want to let go. 

Second pass, minutes, and they just remain frozen in their embrace. Kevin can feel Connor tremble in between, but there’s no wetness where he rests his head against Kevin’s shoulder, so the young man lets it be, for now. 

A knock on the door disturbs them, but when they part, the nurse just gives them a little smile.

‘Don’t mind me, I’m just checking in on you, as per protocol. How are we doing, Connor?’ 

The man in question takes a slow breath, as if thinking about his answer. 

‘Dizzy, when I try sitting up, but my anxiety is just… whoosh.’ 

He makes a funny little gesture with his hand. Kevin feels his face crack a little grin, but reigns himself in immediately - it’s hardly appropriate, and he shouldn’t judge, or laugh at, Connor. 

’And I’m starting to feel like I’ll actually get some sleep. That’s nice.’

‘No nausea?’ 

’Thankfully not. I’ve had enough of that.’ 

She chuckles while making a note in Connor’s chart, before setting out to checking the IV port in Connor’s arm. 

’I’ve seen worse, don’t worry. You look a bit healthier, too, although that might be as much your visitor as much as the IV.’ 

Kevin can’t decipher the look she’s giving him, but then her nimble fingers go about following the line, making sure there are no tangles.

‘On that note, you’re welcome to stay, Mr Price, as long as you don’t keep my patient awake unnecessarily. You’re still under observation, Connor, but I think we can go down to 30-minute checks.’ 

When she’s gone, silence momentarily falls, but it’s interrupted by a deep sigh. 

‘We should probably talk, hm?’ 

Kevin just nods, before folding his hands on the bedrail and resting his head on top. 

‘We should, but not now. It’s the middle of the night, I can see you getting sleepy and the nurse said you might not remember parts of this.’

‘You’re not going to change your mind on this, right?’ 

‘Nope, not a chance. And you look exhausted, Con, I don’t want to keep you awake.’ 

He heaves another sigh, followed by a yawn Connor desperately tries to suppress. To no avail. 

‘Gee, thanks for the compliment. I wish I could at least cuddle with you.’

An idea strikes Kevin, and he can feel Connor following his line of sight as he looks to the door, then back towards his partner on the bed. 

‘Think we can both fit?’ 

The look on Connor’s face is worth it. More than worth it, Kevin thinks, because he oscillates between delight and confusion, looks as if he’s unable to make up his mind, while worrying his lip between his teeth. 

Despite everything, it makes Connor look immensely appealing in Kevin’s eyes. Even a mental slap can’t stop his brain from thinking about what they would’ve gotten up to in any other situation.

It’s a tense moment, the distance between them suddenly very much palpable. So much so that, when Connor slowly scoots closer to Kevin so a space opens up next to him, Kevin closes his eyes and sends a quick thank you towards the heavens. 

He hasn’t prayed in years, but somehow, it’s a welcome comfort. 

Getting comfortable on a hospital bed is surprisingly easy, despite the bedrails. Connor never takes up much space, even in their own bed, but today, it seems to be even less. 

Kevin has just about gotten settled when the redhead curls snugly into his side, his head cushioned against the former missionary’s collar bone. They often sleep like this, because Connor says it makes him feel loved; but Kevin also knows him well enough to know that the tighter his boyfriend curls up, the smaller he makes himself seem, the more it is an indicator that he need comfort. 

Tonight, Connor is tiny. 

Instinctively, Kevin wraps his right arm around the other man’s waist, drawing him in even closer to offer comfort and (hopefully) safety. 

When his fingers encounter bare flesh, however, Kevin stops. Oh. He’d forgotten about that part.

‘Oh, gosh, I didn’t… is it okay if I actually touch you like this?’

Taking the way Connor’s hair tickles his neck as an affirmative, the former missionary dances his fingers over the fine sliver of exposed skin for a second. A faint shiver travels over Connor’s body as the hand finally slides underneath the gown to settle on his hip. 

For a little more privacy, Kevin uses his free hand to draw the thin blanket up higher, until it nearly reaches Connor’s shoulder. 

‘Why are you wearing a hospital gown, anyways? Did anything more happen?’ 

‘Well, I’m in hospital, and I was deemed a risk to myself, so I had to hand everything in. Which is sad, because I had your grey hoodie with me, that really soft one, because it smelled like you, and now it’s gone and will smell like hospital when we get it back.’ 

Connor’s speech is starting to slur, just slightly. Kevin wonders if it’s the medication they gave him or just exhaustion, but going by what Connor is actually saying, it’s probably a mix of both. 

Because, uncharacteristically, Connor sounds absolutely shattered. The pitch of his voice is a surefire way to know whether he is tired, and it’s something quite commonly heard around exam time and tech weeks, but Kevin has never heard him this low and croaky. 

Not to mention the medication definitely loosened Connor’s tongue a bit, or so it seems. 

‘Did you know that people apparently try and kill themselves with their shoelaces?’ 

He raises his head to look at Kevin, just for a second, surprise and confusion clearly written over his face, before he rolls his eyes and snuggles down again. 

The situation might be serious, but to Kevin, his partner’s delayed response - growing ever more prominent - is increasingly funny. 

‘How does that even work? Seems like an awful lot of work. But yeah, gowns. It’s a ward thing, I think. No-one’s having surgery, obvs, but people still wear them, or something. Might be to put people off of getting it on with each other, for all I know.’ 

This time, Kevin can’t help the pearls of laughter escaping, shaking Connor slightly and coaxing a slighty displeased sound from the back of his throat. 

‘Connor, are you high now?’ 

There’s only a low hum, at first, followed by a nod. 

‘Maybe. A little. Do I still make sense, though?’ 

‘Yeah, you do, don’t worry.’

This time, the hum sounds satisfied. The silence begins to stretch comfortably as both men let their thoughts run. Kevin thinks Connor has fallen asleep, when the man in question begins drawing random patterns on his partner’s chest. 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

The whispered apology suddenly takes up so much space in the room, Kevin doesn’t know how to react. Ever since he stepped over the threshold, there has been an certain distance between them, as if a rift had opened.

Everything about this situation is new for Kevin, and his old insecurity, his inexperience with mental illness, has once again taken hold, rendering him useless. Helpless. 

It’s like a deja-vu. Or rather, it’s like he travelled back in time, to a few months ago, when he was first confronted with Connor’s demons. 

Obviously, they haven’t learned much from that incident. Kevin hasn’t, at least, or he wouldn’t feel like this. 

‘I’m sorry I’m such a mess,’ Connor continues, slowly.

‘And that you had to cut your holiday short because of it. You shouldn’t have, Kev.’

‘Shh, I don’t mind, Con. I really don’t.’ 

It’s not a lie. They don’t spend much time apart these days, never have since Kevin returned from Uganda, and he really doesn’t mind being back a few days earlier. 

‘But, how can you? How can you come for a basket case like me?’ 

This conversation is taking a turn for the worse, and at rapid speed. Kevin knows Connor is incredible vulnerable right now, his tongue loosened by the sedative; letting him talk feels like taking advantage, but the young man also can’t bring himself to shush the redhead, for fear it’d send the wrong the message. 

Because he does care, he really does, but he’d rather Connor wasn’t quite as raw, as open, as he is right now. 

‘You’re not a basket case, Connor,’ Kevin murmurs, his hand searching out his boyfriend’s and covering it. 

‘And even if you were, you’d be my basket case. I’d always come for you, because you mean the world to me.’ 

To emphasise his point, he presses a kiss into Connor’s hair. It feels even more intimate than usual, and Kevin’s heart skips a beat when he feels the soft press of lips against his collarbone. 

Another pause, and for a second time, Kevin thinks Connor has finally nodded off, but no such luck. 

‘I need help, Kev, I really do. Today was so scary,’ Connor mumbles. 

‘I cut myself, with that new knife we got. The ceramic one. That’s really sharp, by the way. And on the way, I thought about jumping, you know? Who in their right mind does something like that?’

‘Connor, you were desperate, depressed and scared. I know it’s easy for me to say, but please don’t feel guilty or weak about this,’ Kevin says. 

He knows his voice is shaking, just a little. Overcome with a host of confusing emotions, he has no way of masking them, as much as he’d like to for Connor’s sake. 

‘I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, but I’m sure it wasn’t easy to come here, and on your own, too. You’re so strong.’

‘I had a really shit doctor in ER.’ 

A bit uncoordinated, Connor raises his head again, his eyes slightly unfocused as he looks at Kevin. 

‘I’ll tell you, just in case I forget, because I want to complain.’

Funnily enough, the redhead looks appropriately petulant, wearing a rarely seen pout on his lips. But it soon makes way to a far more upset look, and Kevin gives in to the urge of stroking his hair. 

‘Why’s that?’ 

‘He was, like, really rude. And incompetent. Told me I was just a little sad, and all I needed was a Xanax and some sleep.’ 

The sound of Kevin sucking air through his teeth startles Connor, and his eyes turn wide as saucers. 

‘Are you angry at me for telling him to… stuff it?’ 

‘No, no, I’m definitely not angry at you… did you say it like that?’ 

Lying down again, and wriggling a little to find his former position, a weak chuckle comes over Connor’s lips. 

‘No, I told him I was depressive and suicidal and then I started crying. Like the cliche I am. After I threw up a second time in all my panic, that is, which is why I have this stupid thing in my arm,’ a yawn interrupts his speech, and just for a moment, he rubs his cheek against Kevin, like a cat. 

‘I feel like crying now, but it’s like I have no tears left.’ 

‘You’re exhausted, Con.’

A non-committal hum, and Connor is back to drawing patterns. It takes a few attempts, but Kevin soon recognizes he’s drawing hearts, and circles, and their initials. The realisation triggers a surge of protectiveness so strong, Kevin momentarily forgets to breathe. 

‘I haven’t slept much.’

Somehow, the admission does and doesn’t surprise him. For the two weeks before Kevin’s flight out, Connor had definitely slept more than usual - but what Kevin read about depression, insomnia was just as common. 

‘Do you feel sleepy now?’ 

A simple nod, followed by another yawn. 

‘Well, then, stop fighting it just so you can talk to me,’ Kevin can’t help the chuckle. He shouldn’t be encouraging this, but he’s also oddly touched that Connor is so hell-bent on talking to him. 

‘Come on, go to sleep. Don’t fight it. I can see you struggling to keep your eyes open, you know.’ 

‘But…’ 

‘No buts, Connor.’ Taking the chance offered so generously by the redhead’s position, Kevin gently nuzzles the ginger hair. 

‘You need to sleep. I know you’re afraid of tomorrow, of what will happen once we have that talk. 

‘Hey, I’m a bit afraid of that, too… but I promise, you won’t lose me because of this. And if you need to hear why I love you, I can go on all night.’ 

There’s no reply, just soft breathing and the faint rustling caused by Connor slowly, drowsily rubbing his feet against each other. Self-soothing, yes, but also a sure sign of the former District Leader getting ready to fall asleep. 

‘I love your hair,’ Kevin whispers, taking Connor’s silence as invitation. 

‘And your smile. Your smile is beautiful. Especially that little one you reserve for me. And I love how you’re so incredibly kind and warm; you always were, even when you had to discipline us in Uganda. I love you because you’re ambitious, and the bravest person I know - I mean, just look at today. That was so brave.’

‘Hmm, continue?’ 

Oh, the cheeky bugger. But Kevin can’t resist him, not when Connor sounds this close to actually falling asleep. 

‘High on praise now, too, hm? Well, let’s see. I love you because you attack everything you do with such a positive attitude. I love you because without trying, without force, you’ve made me into a better person. Without you, I’d probably still be an arrogant little idiot, convinced I’m the best thing to happen to this planet.’ 

A low sound from below makes Kevin stop, just in time to catch the sound of another yawn. 

‘We should get married. You, your big ego and me,’ Connor mumbles, and he’s so warm and heavy against Kevin, he might as well already be asleep. 

‘I’d love to marry you.’ 

With that, his breathing evens out, and Kevin is left to his own devices, left stewing over that last comment. He’d love to marry Connor, too, no question, but he doesn’t know what to make of that statement. 

Was it Connor on drugs? Connor asleep? A moment, unchecked, in which the sedation turned into veritaserum? 

Did Connor want him to know this? They’ve spoken about marriage, about their dream weddings, about the fact that they were surprisingly old to still be unmarried, at least by the standards of their former Church. 

Yet the couple had never really touched on the big subject, the elephant in the room, of the two of them marrying. Was it too early? Should they wait until at least one of them has a full-time job?

All the possibilities are giving Kevin a headache, so he shelves all thoughts of weddings, of calling Connor his husband (which has a very nice ring to it, Kevin thinks). Looking down at the peacefully sleeping subject of his affection, he’s overcome with warmth and a sinking feeling at the same time, the implications of Connor’s situation slowly sinking in. 

It must’ve been bad. He must’ve been so scared, which is a hard concept to grasp.

As if by way of apology, Kevin presses a soft kiss to Connor’s forehead, wishing for the world to already look brighter in the morning, as unlikely as that may be. 

For now, he’ll try to catch some sleep himself, despite the buzzing, the worry, keeping him awake. How do mothers… oh, his mom! 

It requires some careful bending and fishing, but Kevin manages to check his phone, angling it so the light doesn’t hit Connor’s face, and notes three missed calls from his mom. 

[Kevin, 03:57] Sorry, can’t talk right now.   
[Kevin, 03:57] I’m with Connor. Literally, he’s sleeping next to me.   
[Mom, 03:59] How’s it looking?   
[Kevin, 04:02] He’s high (sleepy & slow. weirdly funny!) on Ativan or something, because he was panicking I think, and he just conked out. Didn’t talk much serious stuff, we’ll do that tomorrow.   
[Mom, 04:05] Want me to come over in the morning?   
[Kevin, 04:07] Not sure if you can just get in, and I haven’t told him yet.   
[Mom, 04:10] Alright, just let me know.


	6. Chapter 6

Morning comes far too early for Kevin’s liking. It hasn’t been the most restful of nights, and the night sister’s frequent visits didn’t help the matter. 

As a result, he spent most of the night slipping in and out of naps, Connor’s pliant body the only constant in the timeless dark.

Speaking of Connor – he’s still fast asleep when the nurse cheerily bustles in, but her chirpy ’Good Morning’ manages to rouse him. Kevin feels the man at his side trying to burrow deeper, but to no avail, as the curtains are opened and light streams in. 

‘Rise and shine,’ she says, but Connor’s groan doesn’t go unheard. 

‘No complaining - you had your boyfriend sharing your bed and we spared you our usual wake-up call. Now, we need to take that IV out, and then it’s a very late breakfast and the doc is set to come round.’ 

She goes to work while talking; luckily, Connor doesn’t put up much of a resistance, not even twitching when the needles is removed. 

Once they’re alone and the breakfast being ignored for now, he sits up, though, slowly, carefully bending and extending his now IV-free arm. Still bleary, he turns his gaze onto Kevin, watching him as he makes to get out of bed. 

‘How are you feeling?’ 

Connor shrugs, turning his gaze down.

‘Don’t know. Depressed. Dizzy and drowsy, but that’s the meds and lack of sleep. I hurt all over, from the panic attack, or attacks, or whatever.’

He makes to stretch, carefully, and there’s a faint crack as he rolls his shoulders. 

‘How much did we talk last night?’ 

‘Surprisingly long,’ Kevin answers, trying to decode the situation, to decipher Connor’s feelings. 

‘You refused to go to sleep. It was very impressive, actually, considering they drugged you up.’ 

That gets a little smile onto the redhead’s face. He runs his hand through his hair, mussing it even more. His fingers come to rest on his neck before peeking up at Kevin from underneath his arm. 

‘Did I spout much nonsense?’ 

‘Nah, not really. Went off on a tangent here and there, but you weren’t that out of it.’ 

‘Good.’ 

Silence falls. Connor buries his head in his hands with a frustrated sigh. 

‘Ugh, I’m so sorry. This is all so awkward now, how is it like this?’ 

He looks up, meeting Kevin’s eyes for a second before resolutely staring down again. The former missionary just makes to perch on the mattress edge.

‘It’s never been this awkward, not even at the start. I hate it. I’m so stupid. I probably said so many stupid things last night, and I can’t remember anything, really, after you got into bed with me.’ 

Instinctively, Kevin wants to say ‘that’s usually how it ends when I get you into bed’. He quickly banishes the thought far away, opting for an attempt at comfort instead.

‘Hey, Con, look at me.’

Placing his fingers under Connor’s chin, Kevin gently coaxes his boyfriend’s head up. The redhead’s eyes are always expressive, even more so now.

‘Hm?’ 

Instead of offering words, Kevin leans forward, pressing his lips against Connor’s. Initially, he’s met with some resistance.

‘What about morning breath?’ The redhead murmurs against his lips, the movement tickling the sensitiv skin in the best of ways.

‘Don’t care.’

That seems to settle it, because instead of talking some more, Connor leans in, letting Kevin kiss him very thoroughly and reciprocating eagerly. 

It’s soft, chaste even, but Kevin feels as if it bridges the gap between them, at least partially, bringing them closer again. 

As they slowly break apart, Connor lets himself fall backwards again, closing his eyes for a second.

‘We should… no, we need to talk, Kev.’

Kevin just nods, settling into a cross-legged seat. 

‘We do. But I want you to be comfortable, so don’t force yourself, please.’ 

‘There’s no way for me to be comfortable talking about this, right now. Maybe not ever.’

Fixing Kevin with his gaze, Connor draws up his knees to hug them close. Everything in his posture betrays how close this gets to him, so much so that Kevin wants to tell him to stop, to leave it be for now. 

‘I’m sorry if I scared you. Or worried you. Gosh, I really scared myself, yesterday, and then it all just went downhill from there.’

Their feet touch, and Kevin wiggles his toes to encourage Connor to go on, to keep talking. 

‘That’s alright.’ 

‘You shouldn’t take it this easily.’

‘I’m not taking it easily, Connor, but I look around and see you in good hands.’ 

‘Yeah, well, thank Poptarts for that, I guess… he made me go. I’m not sure if I would have, otherwise.’ 

That draws a hum from Kevin. He makes a mental note to thank Poptarts, and to update him on Connor’s status. 

‘Wanna tell me what happened? I mean, I noticed you weren’t well before I left, but it still came as a surprise.’ 

For a second, Connor looks confused, then turns pensive. 

‘Well, I guess there were warning signs… but I didn’t see it coming, either. Refused to.’

A deep breath. Another one. Kevin just sits, waiting; it’s Connor’s story to tell, and he should do it on his own terms.

‘I had that dance exam on Tuesday, and then we all went for pizza afterwards. I was a bit down, but nothing major, really - it was like I’d been the days before, mood-wise, so you can imagine,’ he starts.

‘And then, when I woke up on Wednesday, it was just… there. Getting out of bed was hard, and I only did it because I needed food. Everything was hard. I zoned out a few times, and that’s how it continued. I even forgot to eat. 

‘By Friday, I knew something was really wrong, which made my anxiety levels go through the roof… and the rest is history, really.’

The redhead rubs a hand over his face and stretches his legs out again, accidentally bumping Kevin with one of his feet. In response, the former missionary tickles the sole of the offending limb, the resulting soft laugh and Connor’s twitch a welcome distraction. 

It takes only a second or two before he is back to being anything but happy, though. The redhead’s fingers knot themselves in the duvet, and he’s taken to chewing on his lip, just enough to make it go plump and pink. 

‘Hey, you alright there?’ 

What a stupid question, Kevin thinks. Without noticing, one of his hands has landed on Connor’s thigh, gently kneading the surprisingly tense muscle.

‘Well, it’s not the easiest thing to talk about,’ comes the immediate reply, a hint of sarcasm marking the words. 

‘But yeah… yesterday morning was one of the worst I ever had. Like, ever ever. It took me nearly an hour to get out of bed, and when I was done with showering, I just sat there, under the water, because getting out was too much work. 

‘For the life of me, I don’t 100% know what happened; I remember crawling back into bed, and next thing I know I’m standing in the kitchen, tomatoes on the counter, knife in hand and blood on my arm. All topped off with some seriously disturbing thoughts.’ 

Now that he’s started, Connor seems to have opened a gate. Word after word falls from his lips, and Kevin finds himself listening closely, intently, looking for clues and the little details.

‘I knew I couldn’t be on my own, shouldn’t be, so I called you. Then Poptarts, who bossed me into going here.’ 

The smile on Connor’s face is wistful, but it’s soon broken by a tear, two tears, three, four. 

‘Ugh, and I’m crying again. I’m such a sissy, it’s horrible. See what I meant?’

At that, Kevin perks up. He’s never heard Connor use a derogatory term for anyone, so using one to describe himself comes as a slight shock.

‘Hey, Con, don’t say that.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘You’re not less of a man because you’re crying.’ A hand comes up to cup a soft, pale cheek, and Kevin feels himself relax when Connor leans into the touch. 

‘You’ve been through so much emotional stress in the past days, I’d be more worried if you weren’t crying. It’s like a vent, and you obviously need it. So don’t keep it in, it’ll only give you ulcers and wrinkles.’

‘When did you get so wise?’ 

‘I had this really great District Leader in Uganda. Truly good guy, he was. Always fair, immensely kind, and he managed to teach you a lesson, even if it never felt like it.’ 

Good-naturedly, Connor rolls his eyes, swatting Kevin with one hand while the other wipes the few escaping tears away.

‘Anyways, when you’re done aggrandizing me… so I got to ER, waited for ages – twice! – made friends with the security guy watching me, told a doctor where to stuff it and came here. Somewhere in between, I picked up this fetch outfit.’ 

Laughter bubbles up inside of Kevin, much to his own surprise, but he doesn’t hold back. His companion is a bit more reserved, a quiet chuckle shaking his body. The effect on the couple is almost immediate, the remaining distance suddenly forgotten, abandoned in favor of this, whatever it is.

‘Stop trying to make fetch happen.’ Kevin plays along, keeping his tone light and jokey. Under his fingers, he can feel Connor’s muscles loosen, even if it’s just a bit. 

‘See, so my movie education was good for something!’

Then, Connor sighs again, deep and slow. It sounds so weary, Kevin simply has to reach out and take his hand, even if he feels like in a bad Hollywood romance.

‘I hate this,’ Connor whispers, before raising his voice to it normal level. 

‘So much. I hate that you have to see me like this… if I’m fully honest, I hate myself, right now, for being so weak.’

A gentle squeeze, reassuring. Far too often for his liking, Kevin feels at a loss for words, but touch is something he can work with. Touch is something Connor, being the tactile person he is, can hopefully work with, too. 

‘I genuinely thought I’d been cured, or whatever, that my demons would stay in the past, with my parent, where they belong… but apparently, they’ll always hound me. Until I kill myself, or go insane and am locked away.’ 

‘Hey!’ 

Kevin can feel his heart racing, rapidly beating against his ribcage, growing more urgently with every word. 

‘Don’t say that, Connor. I know it’s your depression speaking, but now you’re scaring me.’

For good measure, he takes the redhead’s other hand, but he still feels distant again. So he leans forward, touching their foreheads together, thus gently forcing Connor to look him in the eye. 

‘We’ll get you feeling better. I’ll help. The doctors will help. You’re not on your own in this, I promise.

‘You’re already smiling more than you were last night, or first thing this morning.’ 

Kevin expected a number of reactions, but a noise of obvious frustration, paired with Connor pulling his head back slightly, comes as a surprise.

‘Just because I smile, or I giggle, doesn’t mean I don’t feel horrible, and unworthy and just so unimportant, as if the planet would be better off without me, below the surface’ he says. 

With each and every syllable, Kevin feels like he’s just said something really offensive. He just hopes that, if he did, Connor will be able to forgive him, because he genuinely didn’t mean to. 

However, before he can explain himself, the redhead continues talking quickly, hastily even, as if afraid of losing his courage.

‘Because that’s how I felt yesterday, with a good dose of panic chucked in, and I don’t want to. That doesn’t mean I’m less depressive or less empty inside, because I am. And I know you don’t mean to sound like that, but I feel like this needs some pointing out. 

‘Heck, I had a 90-minute panic attack yesterday. And afterwards, it just kept rebounding, and it made me throw up three times, and now look at me. I’m an absolute mess.’ 

‘I am looking at you. Have been for the entire morning, and a good chunk of last night, and I get the feeling what I see differs greatly from what you see.’

‘Maybe. But what do you see and, more importantly, which one of us is right?’ 

‘Well, I’ll tell ya. I see my devastatingly attractive boyfriend, who also happens to be possibly the bravest, strongest person I ever had the pleasure of meeting.’ 

This time it’s Connor who merely raises an eyebrow.

‘I see him needing help, yes, but I don’t see him as weak for it. Quite the opposite, really. 

‘And considering I’m Kevin Price, formerly known as the next in line to be the voice of God, I think it’s safe to assume I’m right and you’re wrong.’

They both chuckle, and suddenly, Kevin finds himself with his arms full of Connor. Wrapping the redhead in and their cheeks pressed together.

‘I don’t deserve you,’ Connor hums. 

‘I’m happy I got you, though.’ 

In response, Kevin presses a soft kiss to Connor’s shoulder, before gently pushing him away. 

‘And I’m happy to have you. But you should probably eat breakfast, considering they’ll probably come and whisk you away any time soon, to speak with someone or however this works.’ 

Connor just nods, already assembling a bowl of porridge before Kevin has even finished his sentence. He makes it halfway through before offering some to his partner, and Kevin takes the proffered food with a small thank you. 

‘Sure you don’t mind?’ 

‘Be my guest. I’m not exactly hungry, really, although whether it’s my brain, uncertainty or the Ativan is anyone’s guess, really. Plus, you must be starving.’ 

So far, he hasn’t been hungry, really, his mind occupied with other, more pressing matters. Now that Connor mentioned food, though, Kevin is all the more thankful for his partner’s caring nature. He eats in comfortable silence, giving them both the chance to process what just happened. 

‘I reckon I gotta leave you soon,’ he brings out between two spoonfuls. 

‘That’s alright. I can’t expect you to sit around with me all day, plus I’ll have to talk to a psychiatrist, which I’m actually looking forward to, and probably take part in something like group therapy, which I’d be happier without.’

‘What’s that actually like? Sorry if that’s insensitive, but I’ve always wondered.’ 

‘You basically sit in a circle and talk. It’s genuinely like that. Sometimes you don’t have to talk, sometimes the counselor encourages you to speak… it depends, really.’ 

A little shrug shakes Connor’s body, before the look he gives Kevin turns coy, insecure even. 

‘But you could come back this evening, and I’ll tell you if there were any groundbreaking innovations since the early 2000s?’ 

‘Of course I’ll come back this evening!’ 

It had never been a question for Kevin, but the more they talk, the more he realizes there might be a few things about his partner he’ll have to get used to, now. This new insecurity is one of them; somehow, Kevin is hell-bent on getting Connor out of this hole of self-doubt. 

‘Do you want me to bring you something?’ 

‘Well, this is the other thing, Kev.’ 

Once again stroking his neck, Connor squints at the former missionary, the expression on his face unfamiliar and confusingly hard to read. 

‘Theoretically, I’m a voluntary patient so could go any time, but… I think I’d like to stay a day or two? I mean, I do feel better already, but getting an appointment with a psychol…’ 

A finger on his lips, Kevin’s finger on his lips, interrupts Connor’s ramble, making him immediately stop. Verbal interruptions are nothing new, but it must be important if Kevin uses physical pointers. 

‘Don’t make that a question, and especially not one to ask me,’ he says, softly. 

‘It’s your mental health. I have absolutely no idea what to do, Connor, but you do. So if you tell me you want to stay, you won’t hear any argument from me. If you were to tell me you want to go, I’d ask if you were sure, and if you said yes I wouldn’t argue, okay? 

‘This is about you. About your health. You don’t have to justify yourself for wanting to stay – you’ll have my support either way.’ 

‘I actually wasn’t done, but thank you.’ Shooting him a quick smile, Connor playfully pushes Kevin with his foot. 

‘Could you bring me, I don’t know, sweatpants and a t-shirt or two, and like, a longsleeve? Nothing with drawstrings, obviously, but having my own stuff would be nice.’ 

‘Underwear? PJs?’

‘I thought you’d be clever enough to bring those anyways.’ 

Fair point, Kevin thinks, but instead of giving in just shoots the redhead _the look_. The one that says ‘Oh ha, ha, if I’d have get it wrong, you’d never let me forget it’. 

‘Alright, I’ll see you later, I guess.’ 

Connor just nods, and for a moment the silence turns awkward again, until they end up sharing a short kiss. 

‘See ya.’


	7. Chapter 7

Dutifully, Kevin is back that night, carrying Connor’s dance bag over one shoulder and a Tupperware container in the other. 

After the obligatory searches and being guided to a different room, he’s delighted to find a small smile crossing his boyfriend’s face as their eyes meet. 

‘Someone’s happy to see me,’ Kevin teases, Connor’s answering ‘always’ making him feel very much at ease. 

‘I brought you everything you asked for, plus your kindle and,’ he proudly presents the container, ‘a surprise.’ 

‘Oooh, consider me intrigued! What is it?’ 

‘You certainly look the part. But before I reveal what I brought, I should possibly insist you change first.’ 

With that, the bag lands on the bed, raising another chuckle from Connor as he opens the zip and fishes out a pair of plaid PJ bottoms and a black shirt. The whole time, Kevin keeps watching him – watches as the redhead carefully puts the kindle aside, as he finds the ballet slippers Kevin forgot to unpack but when asked will claim to have left in on purpose. 

Most importantly, Kevin catches the moment, the look on his face, as Connor discovers a faded, washed out gray sweatshirt, the pale print reading ‘Walt Disney World’ and the famous mouse silhouette adorning the front. 

‘But that’s your favourite?’ 

He looks like a deer in the headlights, all wide-eyed with his mouth in a small ‘o’, but Kevin just nods. 

‘It is.’

‘But, why?’ 

‘You said you wore that grey zip hoodie when you came, but they took it… I thought you might want some, I don’t know, something like a comfort blanket.’

Still looking a bit baffled, Connor just nods. 

‘Well, what ‘cha waiting for, Con? Get changing, so I can give you the other surprise.’

This time, Connor just rolls his eyes but complies and quickly changes into his own pajamas, a soft sigh escaping as he puts on Kevin’s sweatshirt, too. In the meantime, Kevin tidies away the bag – which he’ll have to return to the nurse’s station, because the strap is apparently too dangerous ¬– before he takes off his shoes and gets comfortable at the foot of the bed. 

‘You’re very… I don’t want to say happy,’ Kevin starts, unsure how to put his observations into words. 

‘You’re in a very good mood, compared to this morning. Or last night.’ 

Connor glances up from where he’s rolling up the seams of his pajama bottoms, looking momentarily confused before something else crosses his face. 

‘Why woul… oh, yeah. This is probably the most confusing bit, sorry.’ In all of this, Connor’s voice is the most puzzling, yet fascinating, thing. Compared to this morning he sounds comparatively upbeat, but there’s also a weariness to it.

‘Mood swings are kinda part of the deal. Not hormonal or something, but it happens. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m still depressed, and there’s that little voice in the back of my mind telling me I’m a loser the world could do without, but well. Speaking with a psychiatrist may have helped with that, too.’ 

‘How was that?’ 

His interest peaked, Kevin forgets all about the Tupperware. Hearing about these things, from a reliable source no less, reminds Kevin why he wants to become a doctor – even if he’s not looking at this particular field. 

‘I’ll tell you, if you tell me what the surprise is.’

Without a word, Kevin passes over the container, nodding at it to indicate Connor should look for himself. As the redhead lifts the lid, the sweet scent of apples and cinnamon wafts over. Connor seems equal parts confused and pleased.

‘You brought me apple pie?’

He looks up, gratefully taking the fork spoon Kevin magics up from behind his back. 

‘More importantly, you _made_ apple pie to bring? I’m impressed.’ 

Time to come clean. 

‘Well, I brought it, yes, but I didn’t make it. See, I’ll have to tell you something, and in case you’re not happy with it, please know that I was scared and desperate and didn’t know what to do.’ 

As he chews on the first bite, the redhead gives Kevin a funny look.

‘See… when you called me, my mum heard. And I kind of told her…?’

Understanding blossoms on Connor’s face, before confusion takes over again. 

‘So I assume by saying you told her, you mean she knows everything?’

‘I told her you were depressive, yeah, and what had happened… I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to, but I was just about to walk up the walls in worry. I didn’t tell her about the conversion therapy, though, because I thought that’s your story to tell.’ 

‘Well, that’s okay. It’s not like it’s a secret, or anything, although there is all this stigma,’ Connor answers, another piece of pie already halfway to his mouth. 

‘But that doesn’t explain the pie?’

‘Well, when she heard, she booked a flight and came with me? So, she’s basically sitting at home right now, and she made pie earlier, because she remembered it was your favorite.’ 

At this, Connor blanches, just slightly and his whole body goes rigid.

‘She went into the kitchen?’

It takes a moment for Kevin to understand why Connor might look worried, but when he does, it’s like a small punch to the gut. 

‘Oh, gosh, Con. Don’t worry.’

‘But… the knife… blood…’ 

‘The knife was lying on the floor, and she said there was no blood anywhere. And considering she’s still Mormon, we’re safe to assume she wouldn’t lie or omit the truth.’ 

That seems to calm the redhead, who’s taken to looking at the blanket and taking calm, deep breaths. 

‘But on that note, now that you got your surprise, do you want to talk about what your session with the psychologist was like?’

A nod, then their eyes meet again. Quietly chewing, Connor takes a minute to think, before setting the pie down. 

‘It was… alright. Helpful, definitely. He was very reassuring and just… listened. Asked a few questions here and there, and I had a little cry at some point. But it definitely made me feel a bit better about myself, and about all of this.’

Warmth blossoms in Kevin’s chest as he listens to Connor tell him about his day, about group therapy (which wasn’t as horrible as expected) and Gus checking in, about being taken off suicide watch for now.

‘Plus, I’ve got a first appointment with the college mental health people next week, to see whether they can provide care or whether I should go somewhere else.’

‘Does that mean you’ll get antidepressants?’

Kevin doesn’t know why he sounds so fearful, but he can tell by his expression that Connor definitely picked up on it.

‘Yeah, unless I’m miraculously better by the end of next week. But we’ll come to that, and talk about what it means, when we get there, okay?’

Never before has Kevin felt the difference in their experiences, and the resulting difference in maturity, probably, so keenly like now. Despite everything the last days have put him through, despite everything he must feel inside ¬– and Kevin did read some less-than-positive blogs at lunch, to make sure he didn’t put his foot in again – he’s still keeping his life in check. 

So the younger man finds himself just nodding, which seems to be enough of an answer, because Connor goes back to the pie. 

‘Yeah, let’s do that. Back to my mom, though – she did ask earlier whether you’d want her to visit? We didn’t want to spring it on you, so she stayed home, and it’s your call to make.’ 

From his perch across from Connor, Kevin has easy access to his legs, and he uses the opportunity to squeeze his partner’s knee to emphasize that there won’t be any hard feelings. 

Alas, it doesn’t seem to be an easy decision, because the redhead goes quiet once again, tapping the spoon against his lips. 

‘I’d rather she didn’t come.’ A sigh escapes, and his blue eyes are apologetics as he fixes then onto Kevin. 

‘This makes me uncomfortable, like really uncomfortable… and somehow, I don’t want your mom’s image of me to be tarnished. Like, what if she suddenly decides I’m not good enough for you?’ 

‘She won’t.’ 

‘I know, but my brain refuses to see sense. I mean, if she has to leave before I’m out of here, then please bring her along – I’d feel horrible if I didn’t get to see her. But if not…’

‘Gotcha,’ Kevin softly interrupts. 

‘That’s how we’ll do it.’

They both nod, simultaneously, before settling down like the night before to just talk. Only this time, there is no talk about anything inside the room, as Kevin regales Connor with the best parts of the wedding, including the moment his aunt stepped on the bride’s dress – luckily, that had been after the ceremony. 

Conversation is surprisingly easy, taking their mind off everything and then some, but the past days are visibly taking a toll on Connor. Before he can fully nod off, Kevin sends him to get ready for bed, all while the blonde tidies everything away so he can sneak out once Connor is out cold. 

Afterwards, it doesn’t take long. Following their sick day tradition, Kevin – because he is the healthy one – starts reading the next chapter of Connor’s book out to him. The redhead barely lasts three pages; the younger man stays for another five, before slowly making his way home. 

xXxXxXxXx 

Connor stays for another two days, filled with group sessions, individual appointments and a whole lot of free time. He’s finished the book he was reading, finished a new one and is a good third into his current read when Kevin comes to pick him up. 

It’s weird, being outside again. Even though he knows it’s only been a few days, the world looks different. Less dreary, the redhead is pleased, less gray and bleak. Of course, the depression is still there, like a big, black dog constantly at Connor’s side, but today it feels more like a puppy, albeit an overgrown one.

The warm hand intertwined with his own and the grey sweater Connor has snuggled into definitely help, no question. (Kevin’s gray zip hoodie does, indeed, smell like hospital, even if it’s just faintly. It’s still noticeable enough to make Connor not want to wear it.) 

Instead of their usual stop, they got off a little earlier, and now they’re here, in Central Park, and suddenly Kevin stops them in a quiet spot, looking intently at Connor. 

For a moment, the surrounding noises, the rustling of leaves and their combined breaths are everything they hear, before Kevin quietly begins to speak. 

‘I don’t want to make this into a big scene,’ he starts, and Connor can feel his heart sink, no, drop to the floor. 

This is it, this is the breakup, the moment where Kevin dumps him, because he can’t cope, doesn’t want the burden of Connor and his ever-faithful black companion, doesn’t need that kind of distraction in his life. Because he found someone better, someone healthy, someone normal, who won’t think about killing himself, who won’t be all clingy one moment and then push the former missionary away the next. 

Despite his racing thoughts, Connor tries to at least grasp parts of it, to hear the good things Kevin might talk about, so he has something to tape his heart together with until he can cry in private. 

‘So, as if that wasn’t enough, over the past days I realized that I don’t want… no, that I can’t imagine my life without you anymore. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.

‘Marry me?’

Wait, what? Did… That’s not what Connor expected. Not at all. Never in a million years. 

So he stands and gapes at Kevin, at the man who just asked whether Connor would marry him; how he stands there, a rosy blush coloring his cheeks, one of his feet scuffing the ground. 

Kevin Price doesn’t get insecure, unless something really matters to him, or unless he could be hurt badly in the process. Well, okay, not always if the latter is the case, but Connor has seen it often enough to know that his boyfriend is actually, genuinely serious. 

‘Con? I… kinda asked you a question?’

‘Yes,’ the redhead breathes in reply. The emotions crashing over him are so strong, so confusing, he’s frozen to the spot and can just look., stare, at Kevin. 

His boyfriend. 

His fiance.

‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’ 

The hug is perfect. Strong and warm, and Kevin’s scent is everywhere, and nothing around them exists anymore. The kiss is even better. 

Connor doesn’t realize this is real until, with a shaking hand, Kevin ties a fine red band around his ring finger, a sheepish look on his face.

‘I always thought I’d plan more, but I didn’t have time to buy you a proper ring just yet,’ he murmurs. 

But somehow, the redhead doesn’t mind, thinks this is even sweeter, even better than he ever dared to dream. 

‘It’s perfect,’ he whispers. 

‘You’re perfect, Kevin.’

The way home passes in a blur. They don’t need to speak, they just bask in the warmth of each other, in the little bubble they just created. 

When they step into the apartment, the tall, elegant figure of Mrs Price steps from the kitchen, her smile brightening a little as she catches sight of the couple’s entwined hands, the red band an unmistakable splash of color. 

After a short, slightly awkward pause, Kevin gives a nod, the smile on his face brilliant and wide. In response, she hugs first her son, before turning to Connor. 

She folds the former district leader into her arms, smoothing his hair back as if he was one of her own and whispering ‘you’re so brave, sweetheart’ into his ear.

‘I’ll be honored to call you my son,’ she says, loud enough for Kevin to hear. 

And as the other man joins in the embrace, and as the tears finally, finally start to fall once more, Connor’s demons retreat, just for a fleeting moment, leaving him to bask in the warmth of the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it. Long, angsty, a bit soppy towards the end, but I do hope you liked it. 
> 
> Any and all feedback - be it good or constructive criticism – is hugely appreciated! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Connor's depression is back, he's on his own and realizes, after an incident with a kitchen knife, that he's not safe on his own. He can't reach Kevin, but Poptarts proves he's an awesome friend by offering support and sending Connor to get help.


End file.
